PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I stand at the window,
looking out at the night sky.

Memories swarm in my head,
each replacing the last.

A picture comes to my mind,
as I stand in silence.

The feel of his hand on my chin,
making me meet his eyes.

The look in them,
the anger has stayed with me.

I remember his hand on my wrist,
pulling me back.

I can almost feel it,
his hand grabbing for me.

His fingers around my throat,
trying to make me strike at him.

Another time, another face,
a machete pressed against my back.

His voice, it whispers in my memory,
telling me he feels nothing.

The last memory has been etched in my mind,
yet hidden from my eyes.

I remember the helplessness, the fear,
even though my mind blocks out the images.

All of these memories haunt me,
they are the reason scars are on my wrist.

I trust no one,
no male will ever get past my walls again.

Why trust another again,
when all they do is hurt me?